Toronto Crit 2009

For all its faults, still one of the most exciting races of the season. Back from a 14-year hiatus in 2008, this year's sophmore edition featured a smaller field with no citizen's permits. As a result, our pace was much faster and there were much fewer crashes.

Even still, I wasn't immune to getting tied up by at least one crash...

After a quick inspection of the bike and a trip to the commissaire's pit for a free lap, I was back in business.

I conserved enough energy to contest the finish, but I don't have the stomach for these sorts of crits --couldn't handle the bump and grind near the front of the peloton within the closing laps. I eased up and took a sprint on the final stretch... squeezing in for a top ten placement.

eighteen minutes of racing

O-Cup #4 promised to be interesting... A new course along flat and gently sloping terrain, with a twisty bit along beautiful Lake Huron. It was the sort of course where team tactics and peloton positioning would give riders the upper hand and the chance to control the race.

With three O-Cups under our belt this season, we've gotten to know our competition pretty well. We had plans and allies; a break would take place, and a backup plan would ensue if it was caught.

We warmed-up by riding to the course. Our team rotated in a paceline like clockwork, the road was smooth and flat, the fresh morning air and steady wind rewarded our efforts... and my bike performed perfectly.

We watched our teammates in the 8am heat come to their sprint finish, with J.T. taking first place. Their victory lifted our spirits as we prepared for our start.

That all changed once the race got underway. *click*click*click* I changed gears to try to settle the chain *click*click*skip* I realized that any sudden pressure would likely result in a sudden jolt against my legs. As we turned the first corner, I alerted my teammates: my bike would not endure the race, let alone stand up to a sprint. One offered to adjust my derailleur barrel while we were in motion. We gradually drifted to the back of the pack were we could safely repair my bike without interfering in the race.

Then a crash occurred a few metres in front of us. Two riders collided and slid to the pavement, then two more as they tried to avoid them, tumbling sideways in a spectacular fashion. I scrubbed some speed and manoeuvred around the carnage: the support cars slowing behind me, the pack accelerating before me, and I jumped out of my saddle to grab some wheels in case an attack was underway. *snap* My pedal unclips, my shoe drags along the ground, the bike rolls underneath me as my weight collapses to my left, and I land on my hip, elbow and ankle.

I quicky rise and scan my bike for damage, noticed that my chain was off --no, not off --wrapped around my cassette and disconnected from my chainrings. A pin failed... 3rd time it's happened to me in a race, but this is the first time I hit the ground because of it.

I was amongst the victims of the crash, having avoided them but apparently invovled in it. One junior skinned his arm like me, another was bleeding from his nose and brow, another rider had a clean fracture through his frame, while another had unmounted his front tubular.

And I, bleeding from my elbow, ankle and hip; loaded my bike in the commissioner's car, and took a lift to the finish line.

Niagara Classic Race Report

For O-Cup #3 we faced a familiar friend, Niagara Classic. Just so happens that this friend is sadistic and best to encounter in small doses.

This year, the lap count was reduced from seven to six, with KOM points up for grabs on laps 1, 3 and 5. Judging by how things went last year, I got enough power to climb pretty well, but sustaining that power to the top requires a lot of recovery through the back stretch, while the lighter guys are still fresh and setting the pace at drop speed. After all that abuse, my legs start cramping towards the end and it becomes excruciating to maintain pace, let alone pose a threat through the final climb to the finish.

So how did things go for 2009? Well for one, the team and supporting clubmembers fared much better, all the S3s finished, aside from our captain who was DQed in Lap1. Thinking that a few hard efforts would open my legs, I decided to go for some KOM points, so I attacked viscously on climb one, swallowing the field from behind. I nearly bridged a gap on the climb, but he picked up his pace when he saw me sneaking up on him. When I realized I couldn't catch him, I flopped in my saddle and conserved for future climbs. A few other riders bridged the gap behind me, and we briefly worked together in a break, but all of us were cooked and I turned yellow at the thought of pushing that pace for 5 more laps. Back in the peloton, I usually staked a position near the front, sometimes pulling to answer attacks or prevent them, then on climb 3 I went for some points again. This time, two other riders were with me and they both outclimbed me... and the same guy got 1st again, so his king's jersey was in the bag. With no need to contest future climbs, I resorted to recover for the finish.

In the final lap, like the year before, the pace picked up and there was no way to move up in the peloton smartly. With each lap, the field reduces in size, so you unexpectedly find yourself in danger of getting shelled. On the descent, I was amongst few stragglers in a rotating paceline to catch the field, with two teammates coming to my aid. The gap was no more than fifty metres and after a minute or so we were sucking wheels again, but at those speeds it seemed to take forever to catch on. As the peloton pressed on, my legs were searing and any attempt to move up was futile. Along with two other teammates, I was caught in the back of the pack around the final corner. My best hope was to climb like I did in Lap1, but my legs weren't nearly fresh enough. In the foothills leading to the final climb, I realized the pack was shattered, many were sprinting through the false flat... I thought they just might blow up on the climb so I picked up the pace, but still tried to save something for the end. I started the climb with a bunch of guys I marked in throughout race, but as it turned out, the real threats were way up ahead. I pressed on, climbing 15 seconds faster than my groupetto, but there was no way to catch the smartest of the field.

Turns out that the KOM and 2nd place finisher was a MTB racer, he claimed that this was his first road race. The 1st place finisher was also unknown to the pack, so there's still a few surprises coming up in the season. Alas, 7th place is much better than last year, plus 3rd place in KOM is good for shits and giggles, while holding 3rd place in O-Cup standings is par for the course. Overall, the team did well, with strong finishes in all categories.

Looking forward to racing the Bruce this weekend, my summer stomping grounds since I was two months old!

Sweet Taste of Victory

Couldn't have done it without my team. I'd say more, but Phil has said it all...

Now, it was a relatively fast and flat course, so my pudgy extra pounds didn't penalize a great deal. We'll see how disciplined my dieting is come Niagara Classic.

I'm still trying to shave some weight before we get into the thick of things... losing a few pounds won't make too much of a difference on a relatively flat course like Calabogie, but it will make a world of difference at Effingham in a months' time.

So, when I need to summon extra will-power, I take the wise words of Michael Pollan to heart.

I'm going on another nutritional rant here, so read Michael Pollan first if you're interested... 

I hate it when seemingly healthy foods are actually riddled with ingredients one would describe as laboratory marvels. Take a brief investigation in your pantry... pull out a few packaged goods. Chances are your food labels will list "glucose-fructose" aka "high-fructose corn syrup", which since 1975, has supplanted natural cane sugar in the average North American's diet. HFCS was designed to taste as sweet, or sweeter than sugar, but it doesn't require any enzymes to pass through your gut. Glucose is rapidly dispersed throughout your bloodstream --which is great when you're working out --but fructose is metabolized via your liver, and studies have shown too much of it can have nasty side effects.

Or how about all these wonderful "pro-biotic" yogurts on the market. Plain yogurt made in the traditional way is nearly lactose-free and easy to digest. Most of the yogurts on the supermarket shelves contain milk solids that negate digestibility for those who are lactose intolerant, and the low-fat stuff often contains extra sweeteners (usually the nasty ones) to balance out the flavour. There's probably more to it, but I'm no yogurt connoisseur or dietician.

It all goes back to Michael Pollan's advice, which is nearly foolproof. Don't eat anything your great-grandmother wouldn't recognize as food. Check ingredient lists before you buy... if it's got more than five ingredients, or contains some unpronounceable chemical compound, best to leave it on the shelf. Enjoy whole foods, get to know your kitchen, savour the rich stuff in small amounts... and keep riding.

Following Good Friday

So, the first O-Cup of 2009 is history, and it felt tougher than last year. There was some premature "excitement" in the first lap, as El Capitain pulled the peloton after the first corner, I dutifully made my way up to rotate with him. I didn't mind setting the pace at just under 40 kph, taking smooth lines through the corners, comfortably between Zone 2 and 3, but after the third corner the first climb came, and Capo took off. I mean, I wasn't fully warmed up yet, and my legs were burning in my futile attempt to match his pace, so he got an early start to his [theoretically] winning strategy.

After that, I resorted to sitting in and conserving whatever form I had coming into that race. J and PhD staked great positions in the peloton, and it was easy for me to stick around for for the most part. However, there's plenty of nerves in the S3/Junior pack: competitors cutting you off, overlapping wheels, and weaving about. Sometimes, you give up your position purely for your own safety, or fear of disqualification by crossing the yellow line. As the race progressed, the climbs seemed to hurt more than they did last year, and by the final lap I was cramping just above the knee...  I can't remember the last time that happened.

So, with Capo feeling knackered on account of playing the pack with his flyers, J pulling out with legs seized by cramps, and my legs sending unprecedented distress calls, only PhD felt fresh enough to challenge the final sprint. As expected, things got hairy after the final corner, and we couldn't form a train to lead him out. With a kilometre to go, the yellow line rule was lifted, and the bunch used the whole width of the road, with me caught up behind and nowhere to go. I was content that PhD was well positioned ahead of me, but when the pack made their final surge toward the finish line, he cramped up too.

That's when I knew I had to make a move, pain be damned. The group strung out enough for me to swing from the right side and pass on the left. Now, I've taken bunch sprints before, but only from a position ahead of the pack. I've never seen how mine works from the rear. So, not only was I surprised that I passed about 20 guys with the finish line in sight, I was downright giddy when I realized that I was still closing in on the leaders. With a final few meters to go the pain was searing, and I struggled just to hold my position against the sprinters to my right. Good enough for seventh place. Better than last year. Can't complain.

All of us are looking forward to Calabogie, with some lessons under the belt.

Table Rock Report

Well, my first trip down south was a memorable experience. I was astounded by the friendly hospitality and warm character of the people of Pickens County, SC --not to mention, the patience and respect displayed by the local motorists toward our little peloton.

Here's a short list of memorable off-bike experiences:

-crawfish huspuppies at the Blue Ridge Brewery

-a cashier at the local Ingles who proceeded to tell me about her diabetes and several near-death experiences

-the lovely southern belle in Greenville who, after making eye-contact passing us on Main Street, proceeded to let her shawl "slip" from her fingers (rumours of being flashed are grossly exaggerated).

Also overheard in the peloton:

-the size El Presidente's calves may indeed exceed that of El Capitain's.

-mountain bikers descend better than roadies, but only because they overshoot switchbacks and know how to navigate ditches

And somehow, I managed to pickup a new nickname that has something to do with roasting marshmallows --after all, I was getting too comfortable answering to "Monkey Boy".

Aside from a enjoying a sampling of the local culture and the usual trash talk, our main objective was to train in hilly terrain without concern of freezing temperatures and snow. Here's a brief training log for the week:

Sunday: Arrived in SC during wee hours of Sunday morning. After a decent sleep, sunny weather brought the temperature up and we did a quick out-and-back along via twisty New Hope Road to Pumpkintown Road, heading southeast toward Furman University. A few mechanicals hindered our efforts, and I was battling some sort of flu bug or food poisoning from the day before. After a good climb up US Hwy 276, stopping for a teammate's derailleur adjustment, I had the good sense to head back to camp and get some much needed bedrest. We did about 30 km of riding. Tomorrow would be another day.

Monday: The good weather continued and the group planned for a much longer ride, the famous "Saluda Bakery Run" touted by George Hincapie, only the Bakery is now wholesale only. Nevertheless, the ride up to the historic town of Saluda (steady gradual climb) was beautiful, along Old US Highway 25 through a forested valley, virtually free of motorized traffic. This ride was not without its quirks. A miscommunication amongst the group meant that Peppy P and I did the trip to Saluda without them... not knowing the route. On the advice of the locals, we took a direct route along SC Highway 8 to US25, more heavily travelled roads. Luckily, the off-ramp for Old US25 was easy to spot, and the second half of our ride was along the sanctioned route. Along the climbs, I felt ten times better than the day before, my maintaining a heartrate in Zones 1 and 2 while Peppy was gasping in Zone 4. Having avoided backroads on the way up, we arrived in Saluda an hour ahead of the group, allowing us to enjoy a great lunch at the Purple Onion and get a head start on digestion. We also used the trip as an opportunity to visit Keith's Triathlon, a small outfit with very competitive prices.

The return trip was much more picturesque along the backroads, and I was placed in the fast group that gave the other riders a head start. Their peloton was bigger than ours, and I suspect that they maintained an effective paceline, because we didn't catch them until they suffered a severe mechanical (again), this time a crank falling off. A bit of mechanical expertise from our group got the gang rolling... and things got spirited in the rolling hills. So much so that El Presidente and I got ahead of the group and missed a turn, adding an extra 10 miles to our ride. This one worked out to be the longest ride of the week, nearly a century in about 5 hours.

Tuesday: Another clear and sunny day. We planned for a shorter and more intense ride, a ten kilometre climb up Caesar's Head. The average grade is somewhere around 6 percent, but there are switchbacks were it is said to reach 13 percent on the inside radii. We set it up like an ITT, and as I spun up the first half it was apparent that I was reeling in my minutemen. Things got intense near the top, and I would punch it out of the saddle from time to time, switching to the big ring if the road flattened out. A few switchbacks afforded a great view to the serpentine road below, and I could see the flash of a fast rider coming up behind me. At the top the pavement improves, marking a great spot to try for a quarter-mile sprint to the finish. My time was among the best of the pack, 35.5 minutes, matching that of the fast rider I saw coming up from behind, who turned out to be El Presidente, of course. I'm always impressed that a guy nearly two decades my senior can match my pace!

After enjoying the view at the top, we all took turns descending, and of course the expert mountain bikers got away. Gotta work on that...

Wednesday:

The rain started... we waited it out for a while, but it persisted so we organized a short recovery ride. A short loop westward along SC8 toward US178 then back along Pumpkintown Road. At least it wasn't a cold rain.

Thursday:

The weather didn't match Wednesday's downpour, but the precipitation continued, ranging from a light drizzle to mountain showers. This turned out to be our most memorable ride... while some of us wanted to do repeats of Caesar's Head, the descent could have been treacherous in the rain. I was amongst a group of five sportifs, who decided to climb Caesar's Head, continue along US 276 into North Carolina, looping along quiet twisty roads back across the Continental Divide toward Rocky Bottom and then a gentler descent on US 178. That isn't to say the ride didn't challenge our skills. A few hairpin turns caused our more daring riders to negotiate wheel lockups, narrowly avoid the ditch, and fix a pinch flat.

To begin the ride, my second climb up Caesar's Head wasn't as quick as Tuesday's, about a minute slower, despite having a better understanding of the climb and using my big ring a touch more. In the meantime, Peppy's form had returned and he managed to shave a good three minutes off his climb, and proceeded to attack nearly every hill that followed. But the real killer part of the ride came as a result of a wrong turn. In the backroads of North Carolina, we thought we already crossed the Continental Divide and so our ride would generally continue downhill from there. We came to a fork in the road, a T-junction at a hairpin turn, the left fork heading on a steep incline, the right fork on a decline, and no signage to guide us. Since our loop was in a counter-clockwise direction, our logical choice was to turn left to head home. That meant climbing. The foggy drizzle prevented a view to the top, the hill seemingly endless, and it was STEEP. We were all standing, grinding despite using our easiest gear. The road leveled off and we regrouped at the top, thinking the worst was over. As the road curved around the mountainside it made a shallow descent, but after another turn it climbed sharply again. This time I didn't hold back and gave it my all to the top... which turned out be a dead end... a road up to a desolate parking lot and hiking trail.

The descent in the rain hurt, anything over 60 kph stung the skin and with the glasses off (they periodically fogged up) it was a challenge to keep your eyes open. We stuck it out and enjoyed the twisty highway from Rocky Bottom back to Table Rock. Turned out that we climbed Sassafras Mountain "by accident", the highest peak in South Carolina (which isn't saying much, I know). The ride only summed up to 80 km, but it felt as though we rode twice the distance, the rolling terrain and big climbs were unrelenting. But even through the grey skies, the scenery was beautiful.

Friday:

This was to be our last ride of the week, another loop along Pumpkintown Road and further south toward Pickens. A few good climbs and fast roads through gently rolling farmland. Feeling tired from the ride before, I was able to find my legs toward the end of the ride and finish with a grin. A recovery ride of about 40 km. Since it was the last night there for most of us, we finished the week with a great dinner at the Blue Ridge Brewery in Greenville, and a toast to the man who organized the entire week. Not to mention some boiled peanuts and texas hold'em to cap off the evening.

So that was my first experience down south, and my first ride in "real" mountains. Looking forward to doing it again next year.

Not So Secret Training Trip

Well, it's still a secret to pretty much all my friends and family. I'll be gone for a week, training with teammates and gutsy clubmembers. Considering the furthest south I've been is on the latitudes of NYC and Chicago, this trip will be a real treat for me.

Looks as though we have a nice 2000 ft climb at our doorstep.

We will be surrounded by miles rolling terrain and mountains. The shortest of our planned routes will take at least 4 hours to complete. Faced with this kind of torture on the bike, finishing my architectural thesis will be therapeutic by comparison.

Progress: Both Weird and Reassuring

So, a few weeks have passed since my last R&R week, and thankfully, I've stayed on track. All the usual indicators are positive: gradually losing weight, no illnesses, greater endurance, feeling restored each and every morning... but I find in most workouts, the body really resists doing the hard stuff that you had no problems doing last season.

Most of my structure comes from two days a within our spin gym's bootcamp. These are the hard days... packing in several climbs -each of which are longer than any local hill -getting our first dose of speedwork and standing sprints since August (I'm not counting Cyclocross... those races were just too much fun to derive any sort of training benefit). Anyhow, the rest of the week gets filled with the usual base stuff: steady state, endurance rides, core workouts, a bit of plyometrics, a rest day or two (which usually involve some sort of on-bike errand or commute anyway). Gradually, even in outdoor rides, we're starting to move away from the endurance stuff and into force workouts: seated climbs, tempo intervals.

Done right, the aerobic stuff is tough enough, but now that we're starting to rouse those carb-munching Type II muscles and churn out some lactic acid, you realize that you nearly forgot how it feels when your legs burn and your lungs explode. Seems a bit early for it, I know, but nature has given us a small taste of spring, and that first race is just over a month away.

Back to Base

Sometimes things don't go according to plan. A cancelled spin class and a scheduled R&R week snowballed into two weeks with no time on the bike or in the gym. The most strenuous activity I had was schlepping my luggage around Montreal. Sure, I brought some kit and spin shoes, but with my itinerary, I never got the chance to pop into a gym and put them to use.

To make matters worse, Montreal has a way of bringing out the gourmand in me. Go ahead, call me a hypocrite, but I certainly wasn't eating a big salad everyday over those two weeks. Instead, I was enjoying the land of poutine and tarte à sucre; not to mention getting treated to Au Pied du Cochon where every second dish features a generous portion of foie gras, typically garnished with bacon, cheese and/or maple syrup.

Anyhow, I'm glad Sunday's unseasonably-warm weather permitted a fat-busting aerobic endurance ride. I rode up to my favourite stretch of tarmac in desolate zone within the city: a little-known, freshly-paved access-road running alongside the 401. A fierce headwind on the way out kept the heart rate up, and the downhill trip home lent itself to some high-cadence active recovery. 2 hours of riding, targeting zones 2 and 3, 1300 calories burnt.

Eat Now to Race Later

Now that our team is well into base training, it's a good time to start thinking about dietary changes in preparation for the race season. I don't believe in prescriptive diets or restricting certain foods, but I do believe that making incremental changes to your diet over a period of time will lead to huge gains in terms of performance, recovery and overall health. Every diet book I've read on this subject regurgitates the age-old maxim that "You are what you eat," pointing out that it takes from months to years for our muscle tissues and internal organs to replace their cellular structure. So the idea is to start eating proper now, well before the season starts, so that the muscles you race with are made up of ideal foods and fortified with the right nutrients.

The goal is to tailor a diet that supports anabolic development, foods that provide immediate fuel when you need it, and meals that will expedite post-workout recovery. Some of us already practice a diet that works, which is great... the rest of us should start researching. Joe Friel co-authored the Paleo Diet for Athletes, which I haven't read but from my understanding, sounds like a very sensible diet and has garnered a devout following within our sport. Another interesting read is In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan, also author of Omnivore's Dilemma -both books investigate the dangers embedded within typical Westernized diets and the myths of modern nutritional claims. Finally, certified coaches within our club recommend Brendan Brazier's vegan The Thrive Diet, which is definitely worth reading even if you intend to continue eating meat.

Whatever you choose, be sure to make incremental dietary changes so that by race season, your metabolism is adjusted to the ideal nutritional sources you've selected and you'll really notice the benefits once we get into high-intensity training. In the meantime, start by eating a big green salad. Full of raw veggies. Everyday.

Stuart's Ride

Spending hours indoors on the trainer and spin bikes is mind-numbing enough to make any Canadian Cyclist actually look forward to riding outdoors in the depths of winter. Since the end of Cyclocross season, most of my outdoor rides consist of short commutes to work and the odd errand around town. So when I got an invite from a fellow clubmember to come out for an organized ride to Kleinburg, I took interest. My enthusiasm didn't waiver when I found out the ride was in memory of a cyclist who perished enroute, on account of an undiagnosed heart defect that manifested itself on a steep climb. Even when the forecast predicted near-whiteout conditions, the roads were a slushy mess, and the risk of losing my toes to frostbite was somewhat probable, I actually looked forward to the idea of suffering in the cold.

Suiting up: base layer, knee-high socks, winter tights, thermal jacket, Gore-Tex boots, breaking out the lobster claws for the first time, and admittedly, a bit of Bag Balm on the face. Once I got underway, I actually felt fine. Even a cabbie that menacingly reversed toward me to make a U-turn, then passed me and sprayed slush on my calf, could not disturb my blissful enjoyment of the great outdoors. Not sure if that's attributed to a mind numbed by the aforementioned  hours on the trainer, or the freezing climate shutting down my nervous system, or the sweet smell of Bag Balm under my nose.

After an hour of riding solo I met the group, only three other riders, none of them sporting full fenders so drafting was out of the question. Not that aerodynamics mattered in a ride like this, we kept a relaxed pace so as not to work up a sweat, otherwise our bodies would have been flash frozen to our saddles. After another hour of riding through gently rolling countryside, we tackled the fateful hill, stopping two-thirds the way up as our ride leader dutifully unstrapped a bouquet of flowers off his saddle and rested them against a tree that marks the spot. Lunch awaited us atop the hill, along with other friends of Stuart who sanely decided to drive there.

The ride back into the city was messier and traffic noticeably increased, but motorists were alarmingly polite and our bikes remained surefooted -as though the graces of the cosmos intervened to provide us an idyllic mid-January outing. I picked up the pace as I neared my neighbourhood, my toes throbbing in a frostbite-inevitably-setting-in sort of way. But once the kit was off and I hit a hot shower, the only pain I was experiencing was from my empty stomach.

It was the perfect winter ride. Although I'm not one to fall for superstition and I make no claims to the existence of everlasting life, looking back, I'd like to think that Stuart was looking out for us.